Slave Girl (3 page)

Andrew was grinning at her. He had her number all right. Then he kissed her mouth. She responded ardently, making soft moaning sighs. “Not looking for an affair, huh? I totally got you wrong, huh?” As he spoke, his voice teasing, he kissed her mouth, her neck, her hair. She tried to be angry, and she truly was embarrassed at her own eager display. But there was no denying that she was very aroused.

Pulling away suddenly, Andrew stood back. She could see the rise in his pants, and felt her own wetness and need. He grinned at her and said, “Admit it, Jill. You came back here with me for one thing, didn't you?” She looked away, her face hot. “Admit it."

Jill got up from the bench, smoothing her long hair from her face. She turned toward the window, confused. Andrew came up from behind and spun her around. He grabbed her erect nipples through her sheer blouse and said, “You are a prick tease, aren't you, Jill? Is that what this is? You lead on young guys like me to make yourself feel hot? We're real people you know, us young studs, not just your little fuck toys for when hubby is away doing his secretary—"

He stopped mid sentence because Jill had slapped his face. She hadn't meant to and stepped back, gasping, starting to apologize. Andrew's hand went to his check and he moved menacingly toward her.

"You little bitch."

She was truly frightened for that second he approached her. Alone here in his apartment and no one else knew where she was. Oh God, what stupid thing had she done now? But instead of hurting her, he pulled her to him again, and this time he didn't talk, but just kissed her, forcing her mouth open with his tongue. His kisses were like nothing she had ever experienced. It was like he was making love to her mouth. She didn't want it ever to stop. She slumped in his arms; she would have fallen if he hadn't been holding her. They sank together to the floor. There was no turning back.

It didn't last long with Andrew. They met several more times, always at his place. Then one day it was over. Andrew told her that he had found himself a girlfriend and he informed Jill that he, unlike her, was not a two-timer. Her feelings were hurt, but a part of her was relieved. Andrew wasn't a terrific lover; in fact, after the initial seduction, he reminded Jill of Barry—wham bam thank you ma'am.

After Andrew, Jill behaved for a while, focusing on her daily routine, and on keeping Barry happy. But it wasn't long before she felt restless again. Something essential was missing in her life, but she didn't know what it was.

Sean mowed their lawn once a week. He was older, maybe 35, with a heavy mustache and thick dark hair. Not particularly tall, he was strong and stocky. He looked like he could break Jill in half with one hand. Not my type, she told herself. She preferred tall lean men, like Barry. But something about Sean got under her skin. Maybe it was the way he looked at her when he thought she didn't notice, like she was a scoop of ice cream that he wanted to lick. She felt it should have insulted her, but instead it aroused her. She liked it. She began to dress in more skimpy outfits when he was due to mow. She would ‘forget’ her bra, or wear shorts that were cut off so high they left little to the imagination.

One sultry afternoon Jill offered Sean some of her homemade lemonade. He was wiping the sweat off his brow as she handed him the check for his services. The dress she was wearing was a denim sleeveless outfit that zippered all the way up the front. Her braless breasts chafed slightly against the fabric.

As he drank from the glass, Sean's eyes raked over her in that insolent way that made her hot. Her zipper was purposefully low, and the dress was cut so that it pushed her breasts together, showing off her cleavage provocatively. “It's awful hot out here, Sean. Want to come in and cool off a bit?” Before she knew it, they were in the shower together, even though she'd promised herself she wouldn't do anything stupid at home any more.

Sean was fun. He liked to make love to her in the shower after soaping her up and getting her totally wild. Then he would kneel down and tickle her pussy with his tongue and his thick mustache until pleasure built up in her so that she thought she would explode. Barry never kissed her pussy. Then Sean would have her kneel in front of him and suck his surprisingly large cock. He would hold her head while she did it, easing his cock in and out of her mouth till he came, spurting gushes of semen down her throat. Barry occasionally asked her to suck his cock, but he never came in her mouth, always moving to her pussy when he was aroused, to do his usual bump and grind.

Jill always made sure Sean was gone well before Barry might come home. Except for one afternoon, when Sean brought some champagne along. Over her protest (I really can't drink during the day, I go right to sleep.) he popped the cork and poured them each a glass, using her fine crystal that looked like it would break in his meaty grip. It was delicious, and Jill drank several glasses, finishing each one as fast as Sean could pour it for her.

She knew she was drunk, but she felt wonderful. “God, you are gorgeous,” Sean said appreciatively, and he pulled her clothes off right in the kitchen before he carried her up to his favorite place, the shower. They made love for a long time, till they both had prune skin and the room was awash in billowing steam. As they were drying off Jill heard a sound downstairs. Barry! Shit, what time was it? The champagne and the great lovemaking had completely befuddled the young woman. She had let Sean stay way longer than she usually did! Still, it was early for Barry, no need to panic.

Pulling on her silk robe, whispering to Sean to stay quiet and hide in the bathroom, she flew down the stairs, almost colliding with Barry, who was holding her dress and panties, and the empty champagne bottle in his hand. “Did I miss the party?” he said, teeth clenched, voice barely controlling his rage.

"It's not what you think, please Barry."

"Oh, right. You just threw off your clothes and drank a bottle of champagne by yourself."

"Please, I can explain,” she begged, with no idea at all of how to explain. She didn't feel drunk anymore, at least not giddy and gay, as she had just a moment before. Now her head felt heavy and she couldn't think clearly.

Barry shrugged her off as she tried to approach him, to hug him. He went up the stairs and threw open the bedroom door. No one. He went next to the bathroom, recalling that Jill was in her robe, hair wet, face pink from the steam. Pulling back the shower curtain he dropped the champagne bottle onto the bath rug and said, “Who the fuck are you? Get the fuck out of my house!” Sean, naked, had been hiding in the bathtub, hoping to make his escape. Barry didn't realize he was the gardener; he was never home when his lawn was mowed.

Barry threw his clothes at him, and Sean grabbed them, pulling them on as fast as he could. “Hey man, I'm—"

"Spare me, motherfucker. I don't want to hear you; I don't want to see you. If you aren't out of my house in 10 seconds I'm calling the cops and having you arrested for breaking and entering."

Sean ran out of the bathroom, pushing Barry aside. He grabbed his boots and flew out the door, slamming it as he went. Barry went into the bedroom where Jill has laying on the bed, hiding her face in the pillows.

"Bitch!” he screamed, and grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her to turn over. “You promised! You whore! Who else have you been fucking while I work my ass off for you? Answer me, you bitch!” As he spoke, he pulled her toward him. Grabbing the sash of her robe, he pulled it off, yanking her robe open. “What do I have to do? You want to be treated like the whore you are? Like the little brat you are? Come here!” Grabbing both her wrists, Barry pulled his wife till she was over his knee, her head hanging off the edge of the bed.

"Barry! Stop! What are you doing! I said I'm sorry. Please, let me up!"

But he didn't let her up. Instead he put a hand on the small of her back and said, “I should have done this a long time ago, the first time you messed around. And don't tell me this is only the second time, because I won't believe you. I know now you're nothing but a whore. A cunt! And so I'm going to treat you like one! You are no longer my wife, Jill. You are my cunt, my whore. Now take what you deserve, whore!” With that he brought his hand down hard on her ass. She screamed and wriggled, trying to get away. He held her tight, bringing his hand down again across the other cheek.

Jill was stunned, not just by his behavior, but by his words. Mild mannered Barry almost never cursed, and certainly had never called her any of those names! She realized she was afraid; he was scaring her with this new angry persona. She tried to get off of his lap, to wriggle free, to get away.

"Keep still, bitch. I'm not going to stop until I can't do it anymore. This is what you've needed all along, isn't it? A good old fashioned spanking to keep you in line. Well, you've earned it; shit, you're begging for it! So take it!” Again he smacked her, and again, until she was crying out, yelping and struggling. But Barry was strong, and anger fueled his passion. He hit her quite hard, probably harder than he realized.

Eventually she was crying real tears, but no longer struggling. He had literally beaten the fight out of her. Her ass was a deep crimson, and he could already see the beginnings of bruising on her delicate skin. Instead of melting his heart, this just seemed to inflame him more. He realized his cock was rock hard, so hard it hurt. It needed release. Well, this whore should satisfy that need. He flipped her off his lap, letting her fall on the bed. She was still crying, but softly now.

Pulling off his clothes, letting his impossibly hard cock out of its cotton cage, he started to lie across her, as he always had, missionary style. But something in him made him flip her onto her hands and knees. “You act like a bitch; I'll treat you like one. Fuck you like the bitch in heat you are!” He slammed into her pussy, which was still wet from that bastard in the shower. “This—is—what—you—need!” Each word was punctuated by a brutal thrust into her pussy. He fucked her hard, grunting and sweating over her, pulling her by the hair, using her roughly.

He was raping her! Her own husband had just beaten her and now he was raping her. Jill's mind was outraged; horrified. But her body was in ecstasy. That wetness hadn't been for Sean. It was for Barry, and for what was happening to her. She didn't understand it, but she knew she loved it. Something opened inside of her, some secret Pandora's Box of lust and need, and Barry was indeed giving her exactly, just exactly, what she needed.

"You can expect my call at 10:00.” Barry looked down on his wife, who was still tangled in the bed sheets, her face clouded with sleep. “We'll discuss things then.” Jill nodded, and Barry bent down to kiss her cheek. He felt desire surge through him, but he controlled it, and left her to drift back to sleep.

The night before had astounded them both. Barry's rage had subsided with his orgasm. He sort of ‘came to’ and realized what he was doing. But Jill had clung to him, holding him so tightly he eventually gently pried her hands from him. She wouldn't look at him at first, but when he forced her chin up, the look he saw was not what he expected.

She was gazing at him, her eyes large and wet, with something bordering on adoration. He was confused, having been ready to apologize for his crazy behavior. He couldn't explain it, even to himself. The lust that had been initially driven by anger had carried them both to orgasms so intense they had fallen together, hearts pounding, their mingled sweat a sheen on their bodies. And now her expression as she gazed at him was nothing less than rapturous. In his anger and his pain, he had meant to punish her, to make her suffer. But instead, she seemed to be thanking him with her eyes, to be caressing him with her gaze.

"What?” he began, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips.

"Sh, don't say anything. Thank you. Thank you, sir"

Sir? What did she mean by that? Was she making fun of him? But her expression said otherwise. He was confused, but pleased somehow. Yes, it had felt wonderful to put the little bitch in her place. She had definitely deserved what she got. And her response when he fucked her doggy style had been so intense it had driven him to use her more roughly than he had ever dared. He had thought he was debasing her by fucking her like a common slut. But now she was thanking him. And calling him sir.

He sat up, naked, next to her on the bed. Jill scrambled to her knees next to him, and then slipped down between his legs, kneeling in front of him, sore red ass resting against her heels. She began to kiss the tops of his thighs, moving down to his knees and finally to his feet. She was kissing his feet! What was happening? Slowly it dawned on Barry that she was thanking him for raping her! Without using the words which would have been too embarrassing at that point for her to say, she was thanking him for taking her in hand at last.

Barry felt his cock, which at any other time in the past would have been spent until at least the next night, stirring with interest. The little slut was on her knees kissing his feet! He felt a surge of power that made his cock go fully erect. He dared to take a chance and said, “And what do you have to say for yourself, Jill?” He made his voice stern. She looked up at him, eyes wide like a child's, but she didn't answer.

"Hmm? I asked you a question. Answer me when I talk to you. And stand up. I want to see what I did to your ass.” Jill stood up, her long body gracefully unfolding, and slowly she turned around. Her bottom was still red, and little purple bruises were beginning to form. Barry sucked in his breath, shocked at himself that he could have inflicted this on his wife, on the love of his life. But his cock said otherwise, as it strained and bobbed at attention.

As Jill turned slowly to face him she whispered, “I deserved it, sir. Thank you, sir.” If he had demanded further explanation at that point, she wouldn't have been able to give it. She didn't yet fully understand it herself. But she realized with sudden clarity that what each of the men she had fooled around with had had in common was a certain cocky sureness. They knew what they wanted and they took it. They didn't ask her permission or wait for her response. They each in their own way had ‘claimed’ her, in a primal reenactment of man taking woman.